Heroes of Legend
by HeadImplosion
Summary: Tales of heroes who saved the worlds from consuming darkness were passed down. Now, those legends will be relived, reborn. A greater evil lives on. And where there is greater evil, there are greater heroes, more heroes to be found. Taking place after Subspace Emissary, unlikely heroes are gathered from distant universes and worlds to fight a new, yet familiar evil.


**Author's Notes**

**Hello! My name is HeadImplosion, and this is the very first piece of fanfiction I have written. I have ways to go to improve my writing, and it would be very much appreciated if you can leave a review with constructive criticism. It will be helpful if you can point out mistakes and areas for improvement such as choice of words, sentence structure, spelling and grammar. Without further ado, here begins my story...**

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><p>I've heard...<p>

I've heard legends...of those heroes.

Of how they plunged into enemy territory,  
>of how they saved their homelands...<p>

These are the tales of the heroes...

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><p>The sun descended over the horizon that served as the borders between sea and sky. Its warm rays of sunlight brushed softly against the tired residents of the tiny village, ready to retreat into their comfy, cozy houses. Each day as the late afternoon transitioned into evening and then into night, the village would be transformed, for a moment's time, into a golden, glimmering haven of tranquility. Every corner of the village was dyed with brilliant shades of orange and gold, where even the sea glittered and glimmered like liquid gold.<p>

The Villager sat at the edge of a sandy cliff that hung over the water by just barely a meter, swinging his legs freely to and fro. The base of the fishing rod, which was placed at his right, was thrust into the ground at an angle, its tip bobbing every few moments. The young boy glanced up at the fiery-lit sky, watching the seagulls fly over his head in loops, spiralling further towards the sun. There was a smaller ledge, just opposite from the one he was sitting on, that was low enough for one to partially dip one's legs into the water. The lovely feeling of the cool water swishing around the legs was appealing to the Villager, so he got up, brushing fine grains of sand off his pants, and strolled towards the lower ledge.

The excited boy gingerly touched the gentle waves of water with the tip of his toes, checking its temperature. He allowed his lower legs to partially submerge in the water before completely doing so.

"Ahhhhhhh..."

A few satisfied sighs followed. It felt amazing. He could feel the heat from his back evaporate as a relaxing coolness enveloped his senses. The visual spectacle of gold in front of him enhanced this wonderful atmosphere of summer vacation.

Put a resort with a luxurious veranda by the beach and this would be the ideal place to spend the holidays. A balcony seated right at the edge of the beach, where the winds and sounds of the sea filled the air; whitewashed wood smooth to the touch, decorated with intricate patterns that elegantly swerved and curled into beautiful patterns; every little detail the Villager could visualize in his mind was beautiful. He continued to hold this heavenly image in his mind, reaching out for the imaginary Blue Hawaii drink, sitting on top of a round marble table-

**SPLASH! SPLOSH!**

He paused. The sound seemed to emanate from the right.

Wait.

The...right?

…

He ran at a ridiculous pace across the sandy patches of grass, almost tripping over little stones and sometimes even over nothing. The way the mayor ran towards the fishing pole was comical. Whenever he tripped he used his dirtied, scraped hands to push on and carry on the momentum. Anyone watching him would have seen run on fours, and have a good laugh.

The fishing rod jerked and shook and wriggled as if it was coming to life. This was it. This was going to be his big catch. For weeks he had only been catching small fry, and the biggest he could catch was no bigger than his palm. The times he had spent, the bait he had wasted and the trials he had endured were finally about to pay off. His heart raced as the fishing rod began to bounce and jiggle, gradually shifting out of its sturdy position.

His twisted, changing expression probably said, "Don't you dare die on me now! I've wasted enough weeks for this catch!"

The villager pulled with ever stronger might and determination, now resorting to using his body's full force to pull away. He hugged the pole as he grunted and groaned, his face growing redder like beetroot before he fell forwards face first. The taste of dirt was enough to prompt him back on his legs. The boy turned around, scooping and spitting out chunks of dirt that entered his mouth, and what he had seen had sunk his heart very deeply. To the bottom of the ocean. Aptly enough, like Titanic crashing into a giant iceberg, metaphorically sinking; the ship being his dreams and hopes for a big catch, and the iceberg representing reality or just plain bad luck.

"Bummer," the town's mayor sighed in disbelief and disappointment. A fish no bigger than his hand flopped about on the ground, gasping for air. Villager stood up and brushed the dirt off his face, shirt and shorts, and walked lazily towards the dying creature. He bent his knees and crouched before it, taking a closer look at the dying living thing. It was just another ordinary fish. A silvery, small sardine that bounced uncontrollably on the grass, gasping for air. He sighed again, this time in an audible tone of acceptance, and scooped it into a small tank of seawater he usually brought along for storing his catches. The fish swam contentedly in the temporary home, its eyes round and always staring as it opened and closed its mouth constantly. Down with a tad bit of depression, the Villager decided it was time to hit the sacks. Another day for his big catch, he supposed.

As he headed back for his comfortable little residence, that was funnily enough in the middle of his town, faint voices echoed in the distance. Villager swiftly turned around as if it a ghost was behind him. There was nothing but the beautiful sun setting in the distance, the yellow gradually turning into orange. The voices were louder this time. Incomprehensible words, but clearly there were coming from the sea, or sun or sky or wherever the boy was facing.

_...Ille..._

That was what the voices seemed to be reciting. He strode carefully down the mud-ridden path he took, and stopped by the waters that receded over time.

_...Iuxta me..._

It definitely was not English. However, it did sound like an existing language. The young boy could not figure it out.

Was it Chinese? No.

French perhaps? Nah, no way.

_...Ille iuxta me..._

Plain gibberish or an alien language? It couldn't be. If offices could be used to describe the state of our brains, the Villager's would be an absolute catastrophe, with papers, representing his memory, scattered everywhere. Miniature Villagers would be panicking here and there, tripping over and scattering more papers, while the others fished around for the right document amongst the open drawers and lockers.

Like ping pong, questions popped up in his head before he realized the answers himself. Just _what _language was it again? The voices came clearer once more, louder and more glorious than ever.

_Socii sunt mihi_

_Qui olim viri fortes,_

_Rivalesque erant_

That was when it struck him. Latin, of course. He could only be so sure that that was the only language suitably used in choirs. He listened to the harmonious mixture of voices that soothed his mind and soul.

_Saeve certando pugnandoque_

_Splendor crescit..._

As the boy opened his eyes, and the last words were cited, he saw a magnificent-looking island that floated in the distance. The bottom half of the island protruded like stalactites, with the upper half entirely flat. The boy could have been imagining things, given his ideal vacation daydreaming a while ago, but he rubbed his eyes and splashed the salty seawater on his face. Rest assured, this was no illusion or dream. It was there, and its glorious light shone down on the tired boy with his daily frustrations, and the spine-chilling choir resonated in his ears...

"Mister Mayooooor~!"

A familiar, child-like voice abruptly disrupted his moment of tranquility. Surely everyone knew that by now. You can't simply barge into someone's space and scream in their ears when they're enjoying their moment. Jolted 'awake' by the disharmony between the shout and the choir's, he restrained his infuriated face to a cheerful one, locking away his built-up frustration and irritation away somewhere in a metaphorical box.

The mayor's mouth twitched with impatience, but Timmy paid no attention to that.

"Hey, Mister Mayor! Just so you know, you still have 96,000 Bells to go!"

Which was exactly what "Mr. Mayor" was trying to do: gather fish, fruit and insects to pay off the loan. It was a letdown that he could not visit Tortimer Island yet to grab more valuable finds to sell, due to financial restrictions. Sighing with his mouth closed, the boy trod up the hill with fishing rod in hand as the little brother skipped away past the rails. He turned around to have one last peek at the golden spectacle that his eyes and ears had thoroughly enjoyed, only to find that the island was no more and the sun round appearance continued to be consumed by the once glittery waters.

The young leader exhaled tiredly and sat the fishing rod on his shoulder, before returning home to rest his weary mind, body and soul.

Had the boy lingered any longer, he would have seen the trail of light that shot out from the horizon as soon as the sun had set. The glittering particles of light that served as the trail littered the sky and grass with bits of shining gold. A spherical light that led the glimmering trail darted past the mayor's house, over his garden of roses and tulips, past the railways and into the post office.

Materializing inside the post office, it stealthily avoided the pelican that sorted out a bag of letters busily, and plopped itself into the mayor's slot, as the light faded to reveal a letter.

Embedded on it was a mysterious symbol of a circle divided into four unequal segments by a cross, with the top-right being the largest portion.


End file.
